Modesty

I quick­ly for­mat­ted the nov­el. It already looks like a book, is 216 pages long, which could trans­late into a 350-page book. From this per­spec­tive, every­thing appears so lit­tle. The sheets were com­ing out of the print­er, and I was look­ing at the words. I had a cer­tain dis­com­fort and dizzi­ness. Extract­ing sen­tences in this way makes no sense, my writ­ing does not like draughts.

I sent my text in PDF to my for­mer edi­tor, since he had been ask­ing for it for a long time. He’s no longer in the busi­ness, but he will undoubt­ed­ly be able to guide me. Also, I left a note to one of her col­lab­o­ra­tors from the Varia era. I loved this team of pas­sion­ate peo­ple. Too bad the house no longer exists in their hands. The new team sim­ply banned fic­tion from its shelves. (Vari­a’s web­site is no longer responding.)

I don’t know the world of lit­er­a­ture, I don’t have access to it or have not been to trade fairs. So I go there very mod­est­ly, with no oth­er expec­ta­tion than hope.

The hard­est thing to do is to stop think­ing about this text and, above all, to force the imag­i­na­tion mill to roll its wheel again. We must not fall back into silence.

I will still have the cour­tesy to give the Les Mailles san­guines the chance to sur­vive. I have ren­o­va­tions to com­plete anyway !